Of what May comes
by Ashes of Stars
Summary: AU. Harry Potter has just won the war, and for the first time goes to Hogwarts. He speaks Japanese, he plays guitar, and he has been assigned to Slytherin. Not forgetting, that gorgeous attitude.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers always apply.**

The doors to the Great Hall banged open with much distaste, and had not everyone been quiet due to the very obvious absence of Dumbledore, then it probably wouldn't have caused the snapping of heads and shocked gasps that it did cause.

The year was not supposed to start like this; it was supposed to be fluid, happy and a synonym of summer. That happy-go-lucky feeling had not been on anyone's agenda for many years, since the uprising of Voldemort, but now he had finally gone there was supposed to be happiness radiating from every pore of the world that surrounded Hogwarts and its inhabitants. However, when the students had poured in and noticed the absence of their headmaster every one seemed to conclude there was something rather wrong. Even the sorting of the first years had commenced and concluded without the watchful and knowing eyes of old Dumbledore, and that was most disturbing.

Hermione Granger sat in her seat at the Ravenclaw table with educated eyes, and looked upon the teachers with much interest. It seemed that they all were as confused and befuddled as the students, except Professor McGonagall who stood stoic and continued with tradition as she would whether Dumbledore decided to show up or not. Hermione was not fooled, there was something going on, and after watching the head of Gryffindor house for a while she concluded that even McGonagall was affected by the missing headmaster; there was a slight power that McGonagall never showed around authority.

Draco Malfoy decided to not be interested. He wasn't playing a game, instead he really didn't care that the headmaster was not there. In fact, he was really rather glad as he had come to verbal blows with the old man the school year before, over his position in war and the rights from his family home. Draco had had a lot of time to think his actions through the previous summer and did feel awful about the things he said. He was really rather glad he didn't have to look apologetic yet.

Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom argued the mystery behind the headmasters absence for a long while, coming up with terribly absurd ideas as to why he wasn't there, many of which ended with an explosion and limbs collapsing over the earth around the catastrophe. Involved in the horrid talk was Blaise Zabini, a fellow Gryffindor, and Ginny Weasley; many people had thought this young girl – the young sister of Ron- a boy when they first met her, for her language and ideals were very much alike to her brothers, and with her red hair cut short like a boys her resemblance to Ron was uncanny.

When the student population settled down to eat after the sorting, there came the bang from the tall oak doors that guarded the centre of Hogwarts from the rest of it. Everybody's curious heads snapped round, even that of Draco who really was not interested –yet terrified now he had to face Dumbledore- and upon seeing who came through the doors all the students and teachers where met with a very creepy shock.

Striding through the doors, followed by Dumbledore, came a boy who looked to be about the same age as Draco and Ron, with hair to his shoulders that under the enchanted ceiling shone ebony and beautiful. His eyes were a very solid green, but one could not focus on them for very long because he was shouting over his shoulder – still striding- at Dumbledore in a strange language.

Dumbledore was not affected by this whatsoever, and walked with this strange boy towards the Slytherin table where the boy sat down in the seat opposite Draco resignedly. Strapped to his back was a guitar case, and he wore rather odd appealing clothes, and topped with the strange language this boy made a very alluring case.

Dumbledore leaned down towards the boy and whispered something in his ear, and when the boy replied he spoke in a loud, clear voice in yet another language. French, Draco thought, and quickly he translated the words into: "I do not want to be here, get out of my face!"

It almost made Draco laugh, but he was very conscious of the place Dumbledore stood, and slowly he tried to sink down into his seat to avoid the gaze he was sure to come from Dumbledore at any moment. But Dumbledore was to preoccupied, and took his leave from the boy towards his assigned dining seat.

Every eye was on the boy across from Draco, who was muttering something in what Draco denounced as an Eastern tongue, but the appearance of this boy was certainly Western. Confusing though it was, because this boy did not have Western dress and he had yet to see whether he spoke with a Western accent. Although, Draco thought, he did have the most appealing French accent, which might mean he was a transfer from Beaubaton.

Once no more action to be seen came about, the hall returned to a tranquil state with the students chatting like nothing had happened. That is, the tempo and structure of sound was not anything out of the ordinary, however nearly all topic was of this mysterious character sitting across from Draco who couldn't help peering at the boy in front of him.

"What!" Snapped the boy for only Draco to hear, in French yet again. Draco cocked an eyebrow but decided to be friendly; this person was obviously a Slytherin, and it was his duty not only as Prefect from the following year, but as the only person quite willing to take on this volatile entity, to talk and introduce this person into the customs of Hogwarts and especially Slytherin.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," Draco replied in slow, thoughtful French; his hand twitching to shake this persons hand, "Welcome to Hogwarts…"

The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, the enchanted ceiling above them casting malicious glow that made dark circles underneath his eyes appear. "Malfoy? I have heard that name once or twice. Of what descent?"

"Split at the Abraxas line, and again at me." Draco replied without moving, his blood running cold at the look the boy gave him.

"You are Lucius' son?"

"… I am…"

"You look like him." Draco leaned a little back with that said, but decided to continue in a friendly and polite voice even though the gesture was strained.

"I'm not him you know."

"No, I don't know. I don't really care either, as I have no intention of submitting myself to finding out."

"What's your problem?" Draco spat, still in fluent French even if it was slightly shaky. He scanned the face of the boy, the face he looked upon very entrancing and mystical indeed, and noticing a lightning bolt scar on the forehead of the boy he added insult to injury with spiteful words of "Scar-head."

Raising his eyebrows, the scarred boy looked quite amused. "And that's offensive?"

"Who are you anyway?" Draco countered, his fume simmering and dying because he really was feeling obliged to be nice to this person.

The boy said something in yet another language, and correcting himself with a shake of the head he repeated whatever it was he had said in the first place. "The one person you probably never wanted to meet."

Draco started to answer but only let a quiet grunt pass his lips, as he had looked over the boy once again who was currently removing the guitar from his back and placing it so that it leaned up against the dining table. His face was chiselled and manly, but with a wave of femininity that began at the eyes, Draco noticed that he wasn't a meat-headed bulldog. There was slight facial hair of the same dark colour as that on his head, and contrastingly his skin glowed like that of a Goddess. And that scar, surely there was something familiar about that scar.

And what was this about the last person he ever wanted to meet? Surely Draco had not given so much of himself away that this boy could read him like a book? Then again, maybe in the momentary lapse of coherent thought, between the time the boy sat down and they began to talk, Draco had forgotten all his stature and authority in favour of being spiritually wooed by this bloke.

And like a ton of bricks it hit him. The boy opposite had started to eat, but his plate was not made up of the same very English dishes that everyone else was currently enjoying. He was eating from a wide bowl, with ivory sticks that picked up the food and balanced it between each length. The food was most certainly Oriental, from the smell and the look of the vegetables and slightly raising himself Draco could see, that there inside the bowl was a soup with noodles, meat and vegetables.

The only person he would know, from ever hearing such things as one happens to do, that would eat like that and look like that was a boy his own age, who was more legend than reality and certainly not a body that studied at Hogwarts. There had been rumours of course, when he had started school, that this person might come to Hogwarts but soon after the first couple of years Draco had forgotten about him for the rumours had been diminished with the fact that Harry Potter was no where to be seen in England. Instead, he was living as a traveller, and from private talks with his father Draco had concluded that the location of home to the Potter boy was far East in Japan.

It was Harry Potter. He had come to Hogwarts. And of course he was the last person that Draco ever wanted to meet, for his father had been put into Azkaban two years earlier by dear old Harry, or so he assumed from the tiny pieces of information he gathered from outside sources. But what on earth was Harry doing here?

It wasn't as if Hogwarts needed him, or he needed Hogwarts. The small school, however prestigious, was not a touch on those within the Eastern world, not to count for how Harry had fought in the war and succeeded in brining down one of the most powerful wizards of all time.

Draco was about to ask Harry why he was here, and try again at being courteous with the boy, but when he looked up he found himself one of the last older students in the Great Hall. Sighing, he made his way to the common room of Slytherin to take note of his friends and sleep, but once the task of seeing to his friends had been completed he settled into bed only to find himself rather unsettled.

This really sucks, he thought. And for Draco it unfortunately did, because he had already started off badly with Harry and he was sure that once the student population caught wind of who the mystery really was, then he was to be no more than a mere Slytherin whilst the person who put his father in prison got his seat of fame.


	2. Chapter 2

The school was in uproar and it was only eight in the morning. Eight, to be precise, on the second of September; a day in which students should be relatively calm in the effect of new lessons to learn and the sobriety of the cage that is school. However, the rumour had leaked that Harry Potter had come to school, to Hogwarts and was cohabitating and learning along with them. Taken for granted was so much authority and fame that these children shared, all of them having some place or knowing someone with a place in war, that when the real celebrity came it was so shocking and exciting it seemed it was all anybody could think about.

The girls, for example, had already pulled from shelves and old magazines, articles with Harry in them and the boys had a suspicious thought process about this boy, which was quite unnerving. Draco sat and watched the spectacle with tired eyes; he hadn't slept much the night before. His breakfast tasted like ash on his tongue and he knew it was the bitterness he felt towards Harry that put the feeling there.

Harry, in the glory he was shedding, was not even there for breakfast that morning. It was part of the mystery that served to fuel everybody's expectations of him. Harry Potter was a legend amongst boys, no one ever having known him or really heard anything about him before. He was kept rather hidden from the world whilst he grew up, which made it so surreal that he was within Hogwarts now.

Draco scanned the crowd of people, his eyes falling distastefully on Hermione Granger. He hadn't liked that girl much, but kept far away from her because he was rather intimidated with her intelligence. Although he felt rather much the same- covered with distaste for the fact she was that smart- he couldn't help but feel a rush of compassion towards her, the only girl who wasn't indulging in pathetic behaviour over Harry, or pretending like she was interested.

Hermione looked up and caught the eyes of Draco, and with the infuriating knowledgeable look she always had, nodded towards the blonde in recognition. Draco nodded back, not quite pleased with doing so, and went back to his sour breakfast so he at least had something down before Charms that morning.

The lesson started off as normal, even though Professor Flitwick made a slight fuss settle over the classroom when he called out Harry's name to no avail. Draco though this rather bold of the new student, especially as it was the first day for all of them. However the feeling was lost, and to Draco's dismay his sense of pride for attending the lesson was too, as not long after the incident with the register came a striding Harry into the classroom. More importantly, and a fact not lost on anyone, was that Harry was wearing non-uniform dress, with no robe to cover it up.

Maybe, Draco thought, the effect of shock was what his dress was made up with, rather than he wasn't in school clothes. Harry wore tight, very tight, black jeans that didn't fail to make his legs look muscled and skinny. His top was a tight fitting, bright purple affair with black stitch and his shoes were… unconventional. And, Draco thought, boys don't wear makeup. Ever.

Glaring at the stares, Harry sat down and took out his stuff in swift motion. His facial expression was less than happy, and his movements had the most intruging attitude Draco had ever seen but quickly Professor Flitwick, bless him, had contained the attention of the class in order to teach for the day.

"…And the partners will be of your choosing…" Draco caught the end of Flitwicks speech, and looked around the room slowly and silently for someone to partner up with. He really rather he wasn't on his own, but so be it if he was.

And that's when he caught Harry's eyes, who had looked up from his book to check his surroundings. It seemed he did want to be on his own, but before Draco knew it he was up and walking towards Harry. "We need partners, and we're the only ones left without one."

Harry grunted in response, and proceeded to not talk or acknowledge Draco in the slightest. This severely irritated Draco, he was not one to be ignored and try as he might he couldn't get Harry to take any notice of him. A fiery passion to make this boy take note of who he was, and not who his father is, was born inside of Draco then and like acid to skin it consumed him.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry walked solemnly towards the Slytherin common room. He hated this place, with its false English creed, and prestigious bollocks that reigned sourly to annoy him. What could have been the most exciting time of his life had turned out to be full of codes, rules and laws he never had known about before. This sucked, it really sucked.

Harry had never attended any kind of boarding school before, or any institution where he was forced to learn. His education was born from world knowledge, his magic not conventional by location and certainly his spirit was that of free, uninhibited glory. He was here because his Godparents had signed an agreement with Dumbledore, that said that his education would be finished within his birthplace if he did not complete it before the last year he could. However, Harry had been brought up mostly in Japan and for that he was much more advanced than the petty children he now lived with.

The claiming of Harry Potter was not by status or clique. He was a wizard, with exceptional talent, but this did not claim his soul either. It was within the freedom he had once possessed that owned him, and for a while it had seemed like he owned it too. But fuck, do things change when you have just saved the world from the most evil of fates!

Harry headed directly for his own private room, which had once been the music room for the Slytherin's. It was sure to cause uproar once they found out, but as of yet people were avoiding him for his enigmatic presence which was sorely intimidating. And even though his ego fed dearly off the stares, the wonderment and the personality, it seemed as if his legacy was the shade where he shined and people were only flocking to that. In great hoards, no less.

As he passed a group of his peers, he sneered discretely and kept walking on. He made sure as the door to his room shut that it made a rather loud sound, and carefully but quickly he changed and darted for the outside world.

"Uh… Harry, me and my friends were wondering whether you would like to come and have a drink with us tonight." Asked a daring voice from behind his strutting self. Turning around and he was met with Draco Malfoy, flanked by a diffusible amount of Slytherin's. What were they talking about? he thought to himself quietly, in the back of his head, because surely Harry goddamn Potter did not want to go drinking, or rather pansy drinking with a bunch of rich fools.

"No… thanks…" Draco watched, rather disappointed, the retreating back of Harry. There was such cold, identified maliciousness in the looks and words given to Draco from this allusive boy, but the fire was not dampened in Draco. He sucked up the sadness, he really tried, and went about setting up his friends for a night of drinking.

Like always, the Broomsticks was rather dead until the seventh years started heading inside. Draco's group was not to be the first that entered, instead there was a small clique of elitist Ravenclaw's, who weren't really drinking but sucking up the grown up atmosphere with pleasure.

"What you having?" Blaise asked Draco as he leaned across the bar languidly like some half impressive Muggle. Glaring for the first few seconds, Draco initiated a response by pointing at the appropriate tap and began to speak when a delightful topic of conversation popped willingly into his head.

"Potter… what do you think of him?" He asked not only Blaise, but the rest of his friends all eager to be served by Rosmerta and her bar staff. Blaise cocked an eyebrow disbelievingly and turned away a few seconds before replying with; "Bit of a bastard, if you ask me."

"And quite right, I did ask you." Draco replied, and turned with his drink in hand to Pansy. "You?"

Dreamily she responded, her hands clasped to her chest and eyes upturned to the ceiling: "Bad boy."

"What do we know about him?" Draco asked, more unto himself than the others, following a tut directed at Pansy's actions.

"Well, and I think this is an obvious part, he has attitude rolling off him." Pansy added to the conversation.

Draco looked at her as if she was an idiot. "Pfft. That isn't attitude, it's punishment to the world."

"No," Blaise interjected, "How can you say that when your attitude is punishment for the world. He has attitude, he has a Japanese background. For all we know he is part of the Asian Mafia."

The group laughed, except Draco silently became afraid. It could be true, for all he knew, and that was a thought he would rather not have. "I heard he was supposed to come to Hogwarts in first year, but…" Theo said.

"Come on, is this all we know about him?" Draco said exasperatedly.

"He plays guitar and he has his own room." Pansy said before sipping her fruity drink tepidly. She looked, Draco noted, as if drinking with some gusto might hurt her.

"His own room?" Blaise asked loudly, shocked. Pansy nodded and explained she had seen him going into the music room and not coming out for hours. She also added that the second year, extraordinary oboe player, that was constantly practicing had tried to enter behind the portrait and when he argued to get in the picture of Gactstine had politely told him that it was private now.

'Fuck', Draco thought. 'He is way ahead of me.'

Similarly, Harry was on his own discovery of another unit of life. His feet hit the ground beneath his chunky black boots and caused a ruckus in the small, quaint little town he was plodding through. Anger coursed through his veins at the sight of the house in which he was determined to enter, and when he knocked on the door –politely, to not give himself away- he heard the faint sounds of shouting cease.

The door opened after a few bangs came through the wood Harry stood in front of. Soft light creepily covered the perfect front garden, and Harry squinted slightly in the face of the glow. His half lidded eyes met the warm, tender face of a middle aged, handsome man. His soft sandy hair caught the candle light from within his home, and his brown wise eyes softened at the sight of Harry.

The brunette teen had his arm covering his eyes. With his right hand he reached behind his body to his back, and just as the man at door opened his mouth to inquire about the late disturbance he found he had something cold pressed against his head. The elder of the pair was moved, walking backwards, inside the house like a frightened dog.

"You know that is a gun pressed against your head, and you don't know I'm quite willing to pull the trigger?" Harry rhetorically asked in a cold, calculated voice. The elder man swallowed, all his sense of spontaneous action and reflex forgotten with the Muggle device against his head. Remembering he had a negotiating voice and a wand to boot, as his back pressed against the staircase banister, he made to move his hand to his pocket where his wand was kept. A voice, from behind him, halted his actions.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" From the kitchen had come another middle aged man, with long black hair and black obsidian eyes of fire. Harry looked, and within seconds a gun was pulled on this man too. Harry's arms were overlapped, crossed one might say. "Seriously, son, put them down!" The dark haired man shouted.

Harry laughed. He threw back his head and laughed out loud, yet the action did not last long enough for either of the older men to use their instinct. The dark haired man watched as Harry laughed, and waited a mere moment before he pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it straight at Harry.

The teen whispered something. It was incoherent and the syllables could barely be heard. One would think, with the way things usually go, that such a small thing uttered would bring about maybe the tiniest of breezes. But the reaction here was quite different; The dark haired mans wand blew out of his wand and could not be seen anywhere. The result of Harry's words had left a small cut on the mans hand, and the hurt was quite apparent on his face.

"Now, you listen to me and you listen goddamn good! I want to know what happened to them… I want you to tell me what you fucks did!" For added affect, Harry cocked the guns and revelled in the bone sounding click. He looked both men directly in the eye, his point heavily proven, and was awash with resentment when both gasped horribly.

"Harry?" Asked the tawny haired man, still pressed uncomfortably against the banister. Harry nodded and it seemed that both elder men might break into tears. Harry's nod had been sharp and unfulfilling, yet he changed his course when he lowered his weapons slightly, confused.

"Stop looking sad, your sick! Trying to mess with my mind?" Harry was hysterically yelling, it was all too much for him in his present, unbalanced state.

The dark haired man stepped forward, "My name is Sirius Black. Am I who you seek?" He pointed to his heart, a gesture lost on the acidic Harry. Harry snapped the gun facing Sirius back up to full position, and Sirius reflectively jumped back.

Draco laughed his heart out as Pansy lap danced an incredibly scared Ravenclaw sixth year, who had illegally smuggled himself out of school to spend time in the pub. Pansy was scantily clad in her short, black skirt and combined with the alcohol she had consumed it made a very nasty measure. She jiggled, she bounced and she grinded down on the poor boy, whose face was as red as a tiger-lamb on Halloween. Draco couldn't barely take it, and slammed his hand down on the table in rebellion to the humour.

"She should do it to that Potter boy!" Shouted someone from beside Draco's drunken form. Turning around with elegant and hazy eyes he smiled at the thought until he realised he would probably kill Pansy.

"No… No!" He shouted in defence, "She shouldn't, it might be the end of her. I think Potter is somewhat volatile."

"What about Potter?" Pansy asked as she seated herself on returning from the dance. In the distance, Draco could see the beetroot Ravenclaw being mocked by his friends.

Draco related the story to her, between mumbles and distractions, yet he couldn't take his eyes off the Ravenclaw and his friends. He heard slight snippits of conversation between them, and the looks they threw to Pansy were quite obviously distasteful. Snapping into authoritarian mode, and friend to boot, Draco stood up and gracefully walked over to the Ravenclaw group. "Something you would like to share about my beautiful acquaintance?" He asked nicely. The pragmatics were very clear, however, and even though the cards where laid on the table, a smart arsed boy stood to Draco's height and sneered back.

"Your dog, you mean?"

Draco lost it, and had it not been that he momentarily forgot the cutting spell he wouldn't have had to thrown the Petrificus Totalus that he did.

Compared to Harry's situation and events were quite similar. The tawny haired man stayed still, very still, and Harry whispered yet again something under his breath. This time, the one against the stairs heard the words that floated around his body, tightening and holding him from moving completely. He fell, with the thought in his head that he had heard those Asian words before.

Harry pulled the two guns on Sirius, and walked determinedly towards him. Sirius looked scared, very scared, and tried not to squeal in fear as Harry moved serpentine upon him. "You killed my parents." He stated.

"If I had done that, I would have killed myself." Sirius retorted, trying his best to make his Godson understand.

"Oh, don't play games. Of course you didn't kill them, you only led Voldemort to their home… huh?"

"If I had done that, I would have killed myself. If you knew me, and let me make you understand young one you don't, then you would know me and Remus where the only faithful ones to James and Lilly in the end. When they had nothing, we gave them everything. James, your father, was my best friend. I ask you, why would I want to hurt them?" Sirius was screaming silently inside his mind, but the exterior was calm.

"You're right that I don't know you, so why would I want to kill you?" Harry paused and cocked his head to the side, "You know, I don't know you but I do want to kill you. And your frozen fuck over there."

Sirius' back was against a wall now, and he looked around for a way out. Harry's eyes reflected his resentment, it hurt to see it within Sirius' godson. The green of those eyes was so refreshing to see, after so many years without it. And then it clicked within Sirius' head; his way out.

"If I had killed your parents, you wouldn't have lived with me until you were three."


End file.
